


Even A Broken Clock Is Right Twice A Day (All Of The Ways The Avengers Have Wronged Tony) Part I

by Thementalistlover2013



Series: How To Whump Tony Stark (AKA: Anything & Everything Tony) [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Apologetic Clint, Asshole Clint, Guilty clint, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Poor Tony Stark, Team bashing on Tony, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs Sleep, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 18:43:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5596726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thementalistlover2013/pseuds/Thementalistlover2013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 1 of 6 of Even A Broken Clock Is Right Twice A Day (All Of The Ways The Avengers Have Wronged Tony).</p><p>Tony's body was built of scar tissue.</p><p>Emotions? That was something very difficult, something he couldn't make an equation for. Of course, he wasn't overly sensitive. It just hadn't been his day, and the team had moved in less than a month ago and things were too close and people were too close and he couldn't move and he really hadn't slept but he wouldn't tell Clint that because humans were weird and he didn't want them to care because everybody who ever cared about Tony Stark hadstoppedcaringinordertoleavehimbehind. </p><p>Suddenly Tony found himself gasping for air that wasn't there.</p><p>Everything was too much.</p><p>AKA: Clint was wrong about Tony, because now he knows just how human the man actually is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even A Broken Clock Is Right Twice A Day (All Of The Ways The Avengers Have Wronged Tony) Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Anxiety/PTSD/panic attack, mention of minor burns, cursing.  
> Title borrowed from a quote by Stephen Hunt. I own nothing but the idea. 
> 
> Hey guys! This is my second series, so before you read it, know that I hope you'll enjoy! There was a plot bunny nipping at my toe, and this is what came out of it: Five fics based around the team being wrong about their assumptions about Tony, and one where they were completely right. This is Clint's portion of the story. Also, warnings will be posted before every installment because some of the topics mentioned are sensitive. If it triggers you, or you simply don't like it, then please, DON'T read. 
> 
> Anyways, the stories are completely unrelated, and usually just involve Tony and another teammate. Don't forget to comment/review, kudo, and subscribe to the series! More to come!
> 
> HAPPY NEW YEAR!

~*~

Tony didn't have off-days.

He was never off. _No siree,_ he was like _on_ like Donkey Kong. Hell, he didn't even _need_ sleep to be _on_. He was _on_ while sleep deprived, he could be _on_ in a coma. Kill him and he'd be _on_. _You just watch._

It had stung when he'd been doused in his own coffee pot - yes, the _entire_ fucking pot, he was never going to be _not_ sticky again. But what had stung more was the commentary Clint had to offer as the archer helped Tony put his burned arms - which unfortunately bore the brunt of the pot - into the sink, underneath a stream of cool water.

"Off-day, Stark?"

Tony could've hissed back, and in fact, he did, but it wasn't because he was offended, it was because Clint's giant fucking hands had touched a raw spot on his forearm, and _wow_ , that was _painful_. Nearly as painful as the notion of _Tony Motherfucking Stark_ having an off-day.

Clint sent him a concerned look and carefully maneuvered Tony against a counter. The brunette stood there, eyes teary from the pain ( _traitors_ ) as the bigger man grabbed some burn cream from the fridge and applied it expertly.

Clint's voice dropped a notch, as if they were snobby women at a tuber ware party and he wanted to make sure Tony was okay with forfeiting his figure for a second slice of cake, "Tony, have you been sleeping oka-"

Just as Tony was about to snap on the goodhearted archer, he remembered that anger management was something Cap had been trying to inflict among everyone of the team members - excluding Natasha, because _damn_ , that woman was nothing but control.

Tony took a deep breath as Clint rubbed the rest of the ointment in, opening clenched eyes; surgery without sedation was something he had already conquered, and the burn really hadn't hurt that bad.

Tony's body was built of scar tissue.

Emotions? That was something very difficult, something he couldn't make an equation for. Of course, he wasn't overly sensitive. It just hadn't been his day, and the team had moved in less than a month ago and things were _too_ close and people were _too_ close and he couldn't move and he really hadn't slept but he wouldn't tell Clint that because humans were weird and he didn't _want_ them to care because everybody who ever cared about Tony Stark _hadstoppedcaringinordertoleavehimbehind._

Suddenly Tony found himself gasping for air that wasn't there.

 _Everything_ was _too_ much.

Tony felt the world spin as his body went flimsy and Clint caught him, yelling something inaudible; the genius simply slumped, bottom on the coffee covered ground as his back leaned against cabinets.

Then, just as suddenly as the air had left his lungs, Clint was in his face, looking calm and serious.

Even those little forehead creases had made an appearance, and Tony would've joked about _him_ being the old one, if he could've spoken, of course.

The archer was acting out a deep breath, taking Tony's hand and putting it on his muscular chest. Tony imagined them being in opposite positions, and how he might not have been able to allow the archer to touch him _there_ , not because it was intimate, but because Tony was lugging around some extra hardware.

Tony flushed, not from the lack of oxygen, but from the thought of all of his embarrassing insecurities.

Falling apart in front of anyone other than his 'bots was _one_ of them.

Tony attempted to block out those intrusive thoughts, breathing in and out, his throat feeling less tight, his vision less hazy. Tony kept his eyes on Clint's chest, because he couldn't bear to see the pity that might be laced within the other man's eyes.

Sound started to filter back in as his heart beat's erratic solo came to an end, and Tony recognized Clint's raspy tone, soft and calm, like a therapists.

"Tony? Good job, breathe. Come on. In and out, in and out." Clint kept breathing deeply, thumb running over the back of Tony's hand in what was supposed to be a comforting manner.

Tony didn't find it as comforting as it was humiliating.

How the fuck did Clint the broody faced child know about panic attacks and deep breathing?

Tony would've shrugged if he'd had the strength, maybe the money he'd put into SHIELD was paying off in the form of medical training.

Tony shook miscellaneous thoughts away, attempting to suck in more of the oxygen that seemed to be repulsed by him. Clint's lip quirked up and he nodded once, a hesitant show of approval. Maybe Tony was doing better? Breathing correctly? Doing _something_ correctly?

Clint had never approved of anything Tony had ever done, Bruce was the only one on the team that had that capability. Of course, they had thought he was brave for the whole drifting-into-a-wormhole-to-save-the-world fiasco, but even then, Steve had done a spiel on self sacrifice for the ' _entire'_ team.

The genius had thought it was odd that the captain's eyes had never left his own during the tirade.

Abruptly, Tony felt a heat spread across his body. He would never let anyone know how looking into the glorious Final Frontier and nearly dying _again_ had just added another layer of _shit_ onto the mess that was Tony Stark and his beloved and nearly constant PTSD.

Seriously, it was like an itch he couldn't scratch, a rash that kept coming back.

His thoughts seemed clearer now, and Tony wouldn't necessarily deem that a good thing. Mortification pulsed through him as his heart beat levelled out onto a somewhat normal plane - his heart was still wonky, along with his breathing and the whole thirty percent decreased lung function, but this was how he lived his life now; this was _him_ now.

Tony found himself clutching onto Clint's hand, how and when that had happened, he would never remember; wasn't sure if he'd want to. The genius managed to look up towards the much larger man, who was kneeling over him, holding onto his palm, eyes directed into his fucking soul.

Tony was so not in the mood for some _girly profound emotional_ shit. His day had been stirring enough, thank you, life, don't bother coming back, best buddy best pal, sincerely, Tony, AKA, the one you _always_ seem to fuck over.

Clint shifted a bit, reaching a hand out to touch his face. Tony flinched, causing the archer to draw back a little, even though they were still holding hands.

"Just-" Clint took a breath, and Tony grew some balls and looked at him, really looked at him. Clint looked distraught, concerned even, but not pitiful. That was a good sign.

"You're bleeding, Tone,"

Tony froze, he had a nickname. One that wasn't derogatory. Huh. This was new.

"Tony?"

"Huh?"

"You're bleeding. Your lip. You've been biting it."

Tony reached up with his free hand to feel his bottom lip and noticed that his teeth were in fact holding it hostage. Miniature scars were on the outside and inside of his mouth from him chewing on it, but he hadn't done that since Afghanistan, when the pain had been so horrific that he'd had to find a way to keep himself quiet.

Clint looked on, subdued.

"Oh, um,"

 _Think_ Stark, _think_. You don't stutter. Buck up and _speak_ for fuck's sake.

"Thanks."

Clint froze, hand tightening around Tony's as he moved closer, finally settling cross legged on the floor next to him. Both men were covered in coffee, and Tony realized that his ass might've been caked to the floor, along with his eyes, which refused to rise out of embarrassment.

"You don't have to-"

Clint was at a loss for words, shaking his head. He looked upset, maybe guilty.

"How long?"

Tony cocked a brow, attempting to slide his mask back into place. Replies filtered into his head, like commands would in a computer; it was all artificial, and Tony felt the confidence slide right off of him.

How long is what, sweetie pie? How long is little Tony? Well, he's not so little, lemme tell you.

Or

_How long are you thinking of staying Hun? I can have someone make us breakfast._

Neither retorts fit at the moment. He hadn't been Playboy Tony in a long time, and yes, while he was good at cheesy pick up lines, he had no idea how to _talk_ to someone.

Someone who was seemingly actually asking about him, not some sleazy girl (or boy, he was known to sway both ways, and _yes_ , sleazy boys existed) or an intruding reporter wanting to know all of the dirty facts to make a buck or two.

Tony was completely confused. What _did_ Clint want from him?

"...What?"

Clint's reply was immediate and nothing but a whisper.

"How long have you been dealing on your own, Tone?"

Speaking of five hundred dollar questions.

"Longer than you've been alive."

Clint fell silent, squeezing Tony's hand once more.

"I'm gonna fix this."

Clint shot up when Tony refused to meet his eyes, grabbing a rag from the sink and dampening it. He came back down to the ground, wiping up syrupy coffee from the floor. Tony scooted upwards, arms shaky as he pulled his body, which seemed to be four hundred pounds heavier. He grabbed Clint's wrist with hesitance, hands weak and clammy.

"Don't. I can have the 'bots come up."

"I got it Tony, don't worry-"

Anger and frustration welled up in Tony's chest, and he felt like he could scream. None of this was right. _Not_ one bit.

The kindness, the acceptance. Clint didn't like him. _They_ didn't like him. Tony Stark wasn't recommend, but Iron Man managed to get a check mark in the _YES_ box, _right?_

"Clint, you don't need to fix anything! Just, just _forget_ this ever happened. Okay?"

Clint stopped wiping up the ground, sighing once as he sat back on his heels. He looked at Tony, brow creased, hands wringing the rag nervously. Clint looked guilty.

"Look, I, I know I haven't always been nice to you-"

_Understatement of the year._

"But, today, I saw a part of you. The authentic part. You're not perfect and I always hated you for acting like you were - for being _so_ damn good at it. God, _Tony_ , you just fucking fell apart and it reminded me of myself. You're a person, and I guess today was the first time I managed to notice..."

Tony gnawed at his lip again, and Clint instinctively reached for his chin. The genius didn't flinch when he nudged at his mouth, so Clint smiled a bit, but only just a bit, as Tony stopped.

"So, I want to say I'm sorry. For every fucking _jab_ I sent your way, for _every_ fucking thing that led up to today. And I only hope that you can start forgiving me-"

"Yes. _Yes_. Just, _stop_ cleaning, okay?"

Clint looked down at the rag he was grinding into the floor and grinned, nodding once and throwing it above Tony's head, into the sink. He stood, holding out a hand to the smaller man below him.

Clint was hesitant, even with the new developments. Tony had always shied away from human touch, and until today, Clint had thought it was because the man might've believed he was better than them.

Now he knew it was for another reason entirely; _trust issues, getting too close, you're not supposed to like me_. Tony had heaved out those three fragments while in the midst of completely panicking, and it had broken Clint's heart.

When Tony shakily raised his own palm to Clint's, the archer felt a piece of his heart clasp back together.

Tony, on the other hand, felt as though this was the beginning of something, whether it was to be amazing or not, he didn't know.

Clint smiled at him, and Tony _felt_ goose bumps rise on his cool skin; he didn't need another layer of scar tissue, he was numb enough, _really_.

Somehow though, Tony had noticed that the mood had shifted; things were going to be better eventually, and Clint's reassuring nod had only confirmed that.

Tony squeezed Clint's hand and the archer squeezed back.

~*~

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Have a lovely day. (:


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